Hogwarts on Lockdown
by arelialuminot
Summary: John meets a mysterious boy on the train who knows his life story, but hilariously cannot figure out his name. As a result, his life at Hogwarts will be filled with mischief, mystery, and chaos. Also, as a consequence of meeting this mystery person, his new favorite saying is 'No shit, Sherlock'. (Co-written with KRinaLace)
1. Chapter 1

Potter!Lock Johnlock fanfic 

John was struggling to cope. He was looking around with wide eyes and his jaw slightly slack. Wow. He didn't know this whole…world existed. He was completely flabbergasted. It made his mind reel to think that this had always existed. It put him in awe and shock. He finally stumbled into a nearly empty compartment. He said nearly because of the fact that there was a boy with an… oddly wicked grin on his face that normally would have made him shudder, if it were directed at him. "Any of these taken?" He asked. The stranger's grin quickly vanished from his face and was replaced with his emotionless scowl.

"Well, if you would take the time to observe, you would have noticed that they are indeed, unoccupied." He replied, not bothering to hide the tone of disdain in his voice. Honestly, why was it so hard for normal people to see the obvious?

"Er, well they could be away, getting something they may have forgotten." John pointed out with a raised eyebrow. This must've been the type that Harry had warned him against. The stuck up…pureblood(?) type. Was that the word he was looking for? Anyway, he just put his luggage under the window and sat down, diagonal and across from the other boy. He gazed out the window, and sighed. Apparently, his parents had been…wary, as usual, of crossing the barrier of platform 9 ¾ . He ran a hand over his face and took a long breath. It was going to be a long seven years, knowing absolutely no one.

John just sort of looked out the window, sort of eavesdropping on other conversations. Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore. "Which house do you want to be in?" John asked him, looking to the strange boy. Just because he might be scorned for the try at a friendly chat, didn't mean he couldn't try it. What was the harm if they would just end up parting ways anyway? Not to mention he could stand up for himself. He wasn't some shy weakling. He could handle whatever the other preteen could dish out. The boy glared at him.

"Ravenclaw, obviously. I do not care enough for other to be a loyal Hufflepuff, nor would I bother to try saving someone like the noble Gyrffindors. I certainly don't have the time, or the patience for the cunning guile it takes to be a Slytherin and I hate lying. No, I will be a Ravenclaw. You, no doubt, will be a Gryffindor, though you are loyal enough to be a great Hufflepuff. You show a great amount of bravery though. It must have taken a great deal of bravery to run through a wall when you did not even know magic existed until you received a letter from Hogwarts. Your father was the least surprised though, because the English military was warned when Voldemort was alive. They were sworn to secrecy, so he did not tell you until that point. He was a bit disappointed though because had high hope of you following in his footsteps. You have been trained to be a warrior." The stranger said while staring right into John's eyes.

John was hit with this sudden…life story of his own and he tilted his head. Huh. Spot on, actually. His father told him all about the secret he had to keep from him and his mother. Harry had known, seeing as she was a witch at that time, so it didn't matter if she knew. He sort of just sat back and looked at the boy with the startling unique hue for eyes. They held such intelligence. Not to mention that dialogue. Of course he would be Ravenclaw.

"That…was amazing." He told him simply. What else was he to say? He was being honest. It was the most…astounding thing he'd ever seen, despite magic of course. Magic would still be brilliant in his eyes. He looked to the genius.

"How did you…know all of that?" He asked him. He did not reply at first. Instead, he sat there in a momentary state of shock, though John did not know this at the time. To him it just seemed like he was sitting there glaring at John.

"It's elementary, my dear Watson. A simple power for deducing really. Everything about a person, from the clothes that they wear to the way that they sit gives away even their deepest thoughts and desires. I simply observed." He explained.

"For instance, I know your last name, because it is on your bag. I do not know your first name though." John blinked and was sort of left reeling for a grasp on all this information.

"Bloody Hell. No wonder you're so certain you'll be in Ravenclaw. You can tell all that just from the way someone sits and their clothes?" John was utterly entranced now. This was fascinating. He leaned forward, wanting to know more.

"You know, it's rude to ask for a name, and not give your own." John told him and smirked. Finally. A piece of information that this boy /didn't/ know, and that he could withhold if he so desired. He crossed his legs, one over the other, as he waited for a reply. John could be smart when he wanted to be.

"Indeed, but I have never been known to be a polite man. Though at the very least I suppose that I could make it even. My last name is Holmes."

"Fine." John pursed his lips and frowned. He had to think of a way to get him to tell him his whole name first.

"If you don't…deduce… my first name by the time we get to school, then you have to tell me your first name first. And, if I feel like it, I'll tell you mine." He smirked. He kind of liked the idea of the stranger being in the dark. However, he wasn't an unfair kind of person. He just wanted Holmes to question if he would actually tell him or not. Hopefully, his plan wouldn't completely and utterly fail.

"Even if you don't I'll hear it during the sorting, but I never turn down an interesting challenge." Holmes said after taking some time to think it over.

"Watson, what is a good name that goes with Watson, something that a soldier would name him. Something strong, sturdy, and old fashioned. Is it Peter?" Well he was on the right track, it was Biblical and strong after all.

"Mmm, no. Try again." John grinned. This was going to be a very interesting train ride to say the least. He crossed his legs, sitting back as he heard his phone give a notification he had been texted. Looking at who it was from, he immediately rolled his eyes and set it to the side. His sister. She had sent him a picture, apparently. He definitely didn't want to see that then so he put his phone away.

"Jordan, James, Simon, Mark… What was that thing?" Holmes asked, his features suddenly going from emotionless to highly intrigued.

"Was that the device that Muggles call cellular phones?" He asked, staring at John's hands where the object in question had been previously.

"No, no, no, and no." John hummed, leaning back to look at Sherlock and tilted his head.

"I prefer to simply call it a mobile, but yes. Wizards _do _have cell phones, right?" It was ridiculous to think they didn't. Honestly, what did they communicate with? Surely not something that would take a long time. What if there was an emergency?

"Of course not, we use owls and fire places." Holmes scoffed.

"Can I see it? Michael?" His face went back to the normal stoic mask, but eagerness could be seen in his eyes.

"Well, props to you. However, I'm not a junior, sadly for you. You guessed my father's name." John couldn't help but laugh at the owls and fire places.

"How do the owls and fireplaces work?" He tossed him his phone, because why not? He didn't have anything incriminating on it. The boy ignored his question in favor of toying with John's Phone.

"Your father… Yes that suits him. Ah, it's a gift from your sister, Harry?" Holmes had removed the back and was looking at the phone's insides.

"She was sober when she gave it to you but it was so that she could call you when she was in trouble, or to drunk to move properly." He observed. He put the back back on, and looked surprised when the front lit up and showed a locked screen.

John was a bit confused about why Holmes started taking his phone apart, however, he didn't really say anything. He just simply nodded. Well, everything that he had said was right after all. Also, apparently, Harry thought it was funny to send him idiotic text messages and phony links. He chuckled softly.

"Ah, you could say that. Next guess or do you give up yet?" He teased.

"Solomon, Judas, Daniel? Fascinating." Holmes had managed to unlock the phone, but he wasn't snooping through it. Instead, he was on a drawing program that John had. When it suddenly went off, he jumped and almost threw it but he managed not to and held it out to John.

"No, no, and no. I also can't give you a hint." It would be too obvious then. He couldn't help a soft snicker working its way out as Sherlock jumped from it going off. He took it, rolled his eyes, and dismissed the message. He put it to the side again. If Sherlock wanted to use it again, he was sure he'd ask.

"You should probably be careful with that device. If the Slytherin's see it they will break it and torment you for the rest of your time at the school."

"Why should I care about that? I can stand up for myself." However, he did slip the phone into his pocket. Not like Harry kept her phone a secret either. It would be a bit obvious he'd have one too, considering that he _was _her brother. He really had no choice at this school if they knew he was a muggle born.

"Thank you for the advice though." He smiled softly.

"Timothy?" The boys obvious stubborn streak just couldn't let it drop. John chuckled softly and crossed his legs.

"No," He yawned, almost in a bored manner, "Not even close." He smirked and leaned back to look at him. Holmes was…intriguing. Absolutely fascinating, actually. He could tell he could get easily frustrating though. Well, who couldn't? However, there was something different about it. Well, he had already figured out he didn't really have a filter of any sort.

"Noah?" He said after a while. John actually laughed. Should he tell him he got the number of letters right? No. That would be too easy. He knew Holmes would also take offense to that. Especially since he considered himself a genius. John leaned back and shook his head. "Nope. Try again." He told him. He didn't even know this other boy's name yet he was closer to him than anyone he'd seen on the train so far.

"Heaven, Alexander, David?" Holmes named off some more names, and while he was doing so, a woman with a cart full of treats knocked and entered their compartment. Holmes ordered a few things from her. John waved her off, and she soon left.

"No, no, and no. Who would name a boy Heaven?" John asked with a soft chuckle. He didn't have any…sickles? Was that what they were called? Either way, he had eaten at home, so he wasn't really all that hungry.

"Running out of ideas?"

"Hardly. Heaven was the name of one of my father's clients. Goliath, Salamander, Fig?"

"No, no, and no." John hummed out and looked out the window.

"Fine, one hint, alright?" He was honestly wondering if Holmes could guess his name without a hint, which was a surprise, due to the fact that he could tell him his whole life story, but not his name. It was quite funny, in John's eyes.

"No, I don't want any." Holmes snapped as he unwrapped his chocolate frog. He tossed the card that was in it to the side.

"Gabriel?" Sherlock asked.

"Absolutely not, but not to completely off, actually." John looked to the card that was tossed away and tilted his head.

"What's that?" He asked, and moved over to take the card. He wasn't going to sit next to him, due to the fact that it would be quite awkward, especially because there was so much room with just the two of them.

"Collectible card. All chocolate frogs come with them." There was a degrading and unimpressed tone in Sherlock's voice when he replied. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was not used to talking to other people his age in a civilized manner, or so it seemed to John. Either way it didn't seem like Sherlock cared too much about angering people. Seem like he enjoyed it actually.

"Like those baseball cards that-HOLY SHIT DID IT JUST WINK?!" He screeched. He wasn't exactly used to pictures _moving_ so he may have freaked out a little bit. He dropped the card, as if it had burnt him. What the hell was that? He took a step back from it. Was he just imagining it? Surely not...he didn't have that good of an imagination. Pictures just didn't move though. It wasn't possible. Was it? Holmes just sat there staring at John with a confused look.

"Of course it winked; they tend to do that from time to time. What do you expect, for them to stand around in there and not do anything all day?" His voice was definitely condescending at this point.

"Wait, that's…that's _normal?" _John was utterly and completely confused.

"That is…utterly insane." Somehow, he found the situation funny. Possibly from embarrassment. However, he found himself laughing softly at his own stupidity. He picked up the card and moved to sit back down.

"Next guess?" he asked, mostly trying to distract himself from the moving image. Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he stared at him.

"What do you expect them to do?" he asked again, this time sounding intrigued.

"Do you have a muggle photo to give me an example?" Holmes asked.

"Oh! I have one of all my family together." John smiled as he went to search his wallet for it. Of course he had photos of his family. He handed the picture to Holmes. There was him, his sister, his mother, and his father in the picture. Harry was leaning fully against John, who looked like he was struggling to stand and his father was chastising Harry. His mother looked resigned but happy.

Holmes's brow furrowed and he tapped the picture. When that failed he tried speaking to them, much to John's amusement. When that failed, he pulled out his wand, a mahogany seven inch wand with a vampire blood core, and tried tapping the picture with it

"They really don't move?" He asked, "Oh, and Jesus?" It was a bit farfetched for an English family, but why not? John started to snicker.

"No, that's not it either, and yes. They don't move. At all. Ever." He made sure to get his point across. John's wand was made of lignum vitae with a unicorn hair core. He didn't get what that said about himself but he preferred to brush it off and not think about it.

"Give up yet?" He asked in a slightly teasing tone.

"No. Peter, Corinthians, Julius?" He handed the picture back, " and your Mother is defiantly guilty of having a few affairs while your father was gone, but his father knows, and has not entirely forgiven her. Also I'll you a fair warning, here in the wizard world, pictures move, and they talk Al of them. They can leave their frame at will, and tend to visit their neighbor pictures." As he spoke, John got the feeling that he was observing him, as if to see his reactions.

"No, no, and no." John hummed out, "Seriously? They can leave their frames?" Oh, that was…kind of horrific, actually. He just hoped that none of the pictures could actually physically interact with anything. Talk about horror movie like. He sort of shuddered at that thought.

"Only to travel to other frames. They can't step out into the real world. Rumplestilskin?" He was about to say something else when a prefect opened the compartment door and walked in. Holmes literally hissed at the intruder.

"Sherlock, brother dear, I have come to inform you that we will be arriving soon. You and," The looked at the John, and John felt like he was once again being deduced, "John, will need to change into the school robes if you have not already done so." His gaze lingered on Sherlock though, and John couldn't quite read the meaning, but he could tell that Sherlock could.

"Oh! The Baptist! Damn I should have known that!" Sherlock cursed. The prefect raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, clearly not amused at his younger brother's antics.

"No shit, Sherlock." John smirked softly. He liked the ring of that. He'd definitely use that more often, "Yet, you didn't. Interesting name by the way." He looked up to the prefect.

"Wait, he said, you…have a brother?" He looked to Sherlock and chuckled. Well, more surprises every minute, wasn't there? He stood to go change into the robes for school.

"Indeed, he has a brother. I'll see you after the sorting, brother dear." The brother in question said, and turned to leave.

"Maybe, unless your pet gold fish demands your attention." Sherlock smirked at the glare his brother sent him and John almost sighed in relief when the prefect slammed the door shut.

"His name is Mycroft, and now thanks to you he will probably be saying 'no shit Sherlock' every chance he gets." John snorted at that.

"Well, I'm still using that line. It's almost as if it's made for you." He couldn't help but laugh. He took the robes into his hands and made his way to the door but froze. Where was he supposed to change, exactly? Sherlock was already unbuttoning his normal robes. He smirked at John and then pulled the curtain over the compartment door's window.

"No need to be so shy John, I'm sure no one will walk in at this point. They're all probably rushing to get ready. Silly really, we have plenty of time." He explained. John's face was probably brightening in color but it wasn't as if he hadn't changed in front of others before. He shrugged. It was harmless, really. Like when he used to play rugby. You kind of had to shower after that. So, he slipped his jumper over his head, which mussed up his hair quite a bit.

" 'Suppose you're right. " He shrugged once more.

"Of course I am." Sherlock replied with a smirk that made john want to slap himself in the face. Way to stroke the guy's ego. John looked around, having lost the belt. Instead, his eyes caught the lean back of the other male and he blinked in surprise. Shaking his head, he went back to changing. He shrugged the button up shirt on.

"So, your brother is a prefect? How does the sorting thing work?"

"Yes, unfortunately. It's simple really. They put the sorting hat on your head, he discusses which houses would be best for you, and then he puts you in the house that the two of you agree on. After that, you join your house at their table." Sherlock explained. He waved his wand and his buttons did themselves up for him, and then he pulled on his robe and turned to face John.

"So, you practically choose your house? Or does he just decide between what he thinks is best?" John tilted his head as he had a bit of a struggle with his buttons. They didn't want to stay straight so the shirt ended up a bit crooked. He wished he knew how to make them button themselves. Maybe he could ask Sherlock at some point. He finally got it right, smoothed it out and made a face.

"That part is a secret." Sherlock replied, smiling to himself, "But you shall find out in about 2.5 minutes, because we are arriving." Around that time, the whistle blew and students could be heard moving about. Through their train window, the sight of the huge would be daunting tower came into view. The mist grew thicker, and a lake came into view. As the train slowed to a stop, Sherlock turned to John one last time.

"It was a pleasure deducing you my dear Watson." He said. Then he turned up the collar of his cloak and strolled out.

"Er, see you later then?" He called after him. Hopefully, he would see him again sometime soon. Turning his eyes back to outdoors, he realized that he probably should be leaving. So he left the compartment, and made his way to the exit.

~End Prologue~


	2. Choke On It

Choke On It

John had gotten used to things. The moving stairs didn't utterly baffle him anymore and he didn't get as lost as he did on his first week. Which was a relief because he was sure his teachers were about to string him up by his Achilles heel. He'd met some amazing people too. He'd met Molly, Greg, fleetingly saw Mycroft but only around Greg, and Mike. However, he hadn't seen the person that he had been wanting to see for quite some time now. The mysterious Sherlock Holmes.

John was rushing down said corridor to get to class. For some reason, the Slytherins thought it was a game to always make John Watson, the muggle born with muggle toys, late for class. One way or another, they always seemed to get in his way. This time, however, it was his own fault, as he had gotten caught up in chatting to Molly, who seemed to know a lot about Sherlock. Sure, they talked about other things but she seemed infatuated with Sherlock so John got a lot of his information about him from her. Not noticing the Ravenclaw coming down the corridor, he rushed right into him and knocked himself flat against the ground. Sherlock looked startled, but managed to keep his footing.

"Honestly, John, I had taken you to be smarter than the kind of people who run in halls." Sherlock sneered. He didn't even bother to help John up, not that John had expected it. John gathered his things and sent him a challenging smirk.

"Not everyone can be a genius, Sherlock." He stood, and grinned at him. It was almost friendly, their little banter.

"So, we finally meet again? And right when I have to get to class too. I hope to see you again soon, and hopefully when I have more time." He called as he rushed off.

As a result of their little run in, John was late for potions which was never a good idea. Sure, he heard that this professor was better than the one that had died before, Professor Snape, but they were still rather strict on being late, and he had been given detention. Ugh, why did the potions class room have to be down in the dungeons and so far from his previous class _and _the great hall? Honestly, it took so long to get there that they should have some sort of teleportation pad set up for them or something. He just hoped that detention wasn't too bad. He had heard that it had changed a lot, but he still wasn't looking forward to it. Then again, he actually might meet get to see Sherlock there. He'd heard that Sherlock wasn't exactly the most well behaved student, which really was not all that surprised.

The Slytherins and the Gryffindors spent an awful lot of time together for enemies , John noted as he stirred his cauldron and looked the class over. The houses were always against each other, and yet they shared so many classes. Naturally, when the Gryffindor boy entered late and tried to sneak into the room, he had gotten jeers from some of the Slytherins who took it upon themselves to alert the Professor. As a result the room was filled with a hostile aura as Slytherins and Gryffindors glared at each other. John felt oddly ashamed and responsible for this.

Despite all of this, John actually rather enjoyed potions. It was almost soothing, the way you could mix things together with the proper measurements and preparation and get something completely and utterly… well, magical. His next class was flying lessons, and to be dead honest, he was looking forward to those. Quidditch fascinated him. He'd love to join the team, at some point. He was sure first years weren't allowed to try out for it. John shook his head, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. When potions was over, he quickly packed his things and bolted from the room, not wanting to be late for yet another class. On his way he was joined by some of his new friends.

John was chatted animatedly to them as they made their way to the flying field. They were explaining the concept of Quidditch, the rules, the positions, and what you had to do. It sounded so enthralling. They stood there waiting for what felt like an eternity before the Professor appeared. She gave them a quick little speech, and then finally, it was time for them to put their lessons to test and see if they could hold their weight in the air. John's broom had no trouble lifting into his hand and he thought that was a good sign. He beamed, and got onto the broom like how it was taught to do. He flew into the air with seemingly no problem, however when he went to go forward, he ended up flipping over and landing on his back. He grunted as his head bounced against the ground. He tried to sit up and tell everyone that he was okay, but the world suddenly turned black…

John awoke in the infirmary, and was told that he'd just have to wait the rest of his flying class out that day, which really was ridiculous! All he had done was hit his head on the grass. He scoffed and rolled his eyes when the nurse left, but he did find the infirmary interesting. Soon, he found himself asking her questions about how she would diagnose something like a concussion. Magic apparently made it easier. Though magic wielding nurses still had their problems, especially with cures and the like. When John was finally free, he walked out, feeling sort of… happy? Maybe he'd get the hang of flying soon. He was on his way to the dorms when he remembered he had to be elsewhere.

John sighed as he approached the door for detention. To be honest, he felt apprehensive. He snorted at how ridiculous the fear was. How bad could it be? He doubted a lot of people got detention on during their first week of classes. Then again, look who he was talking about. He sighed and pushed his way through the obnoxiously heavy door.

Thankfully for John a detention hall had replaced the terrible idea of letting professors choose their punishments, or so he had been told. John was sure he didn't want to know what the other punishments would have been like. He decided to take this opportunity of time away from the rowdiness of the Gryffindor pranksters to actually get some work done. Then again, he kind of wished he _was _in his house's common room. It was always entertaining there, and here he was surrounded by people he didn't know. At least there was a teacher to preventing people from getting too loud or being rambunctious he thought but then Sherlock strolled into the room as though he owned the place. He gave his name to the professor who was in charge, and then surveyed the room. He quickly spotted John and took the free seat next to him. He gave a warning look to the boy in front of him who had turned around as though to say something to them.

John had already settled down with his homework, but with Sherlock next to him he wondered if he would be allowed to do so without distractions. He couldn't help but wonder how long detention was. He gave a polite smile of greeting to Sherlock. This of course was all the permission that the genius needed to begin speaking to John.

"Can I see your phone?" He whispered, earning him a questioning glance from John. After a few moments off thinking it through John shrugged and slipped it from his pocket, handing it to him underneath the table. Really, it was surprising that Wizards didn't have something even _better _than a cell phone by now, because it was honestly really ridiculous. If they took an initiative to mix magic and technology… it would be mind blowing. Oh well. He was sure Sherlock probably thought the same way, especially judging by the look on his face. Sherlock carefully took out his wand and began to whisper a spell.

"I have put up a barrier so that the Professor thinks that we are sitting here silently working. I want to duplicate your phone and see if I can make a wizard version. Goodness knows we need one." The Holmes boy explained.

"I agree. How could you contact someone in an emergency? There aren't fireplaces in every room." He agreed, turning towards him and sitting his quill down. It was rather entrancing, watching his phone duplicate. It similar to a cell going through mitosis actually.

"Whoa. Does that have all of my stuff on it too?" He asked, a bit worried that Harry might text him and Sherlock answer. Oh wait. That would be hilarious, never mind. He took his original phone as Sherlock slid it towards him.

"Yes, but it won't receive anything that you add after its time of creation. I didn't duplicate the data service, and I'm not sure that I could without them noticing." He explained.

"I intend to do a factory reset though, so that I can use it as a blank slate." John wondered just how much information Sherlock had learned while looking his phone over on the train. Maybe the genius had other sources. John sure hoped so, because it had taken him forever to find out what a factory reset was, and he had been on the phone with his phone companies help center when he learned it.

John slid his original phone into his pocket. When Sherlock was done with the factory reset, he made sure that there were no unnecessary programs downloaded. When he was done deleting them, he held his hand out.

"Wand." He said to John in a monotone voice. John had seen Sherlock slip his wand into his robes, so he could only stare at Sherlock with a 'really?' look until it became clear that Sherlock was being serious.

"Isn't it right in your pocket?" John asked him with a raised eyebrow of disbelief. However, when all he got was a stare, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. He reached into the pocket that he had seen the wand go into and pulled it out, handing it to him.

"There." He turned back to his homework as Sherlock began to weave what seemed to be a complicated spell, but his eyes kept flickering over to what Sherlock was doing. It really was fascinating, watching him work and seeing the things that he could do with a wand. He moved and even _looked _with such purpose and intelligence, it was very intriguing. John hoped to be able to befriend this other boy.

After a while it began to look as though Sherlock was making the spell up as he went. John doubted making up a spell as one went was very safe, but what did he know? It wasn't as if he was well versed in the terms of magic. He brushed the thought off and tried to concentrate on his homework. It was hard to do though, with the Holmes boy working right next to him. When Sherlock was apparently satisfied with the results, he ended the spell. As soon as the magic stopped, the phone's screen lit up with a bunch of different colors, and then turned off again. Sherlock picked it up and turned it on. Instead of showing the usual phone company logo as it loaded, it showed a wand, slowly lighting up. When it was done loading, a screen similar to the phones normal lock screen came up, but it could only be unlocked if it were touched by the wand of its master.

John was fascinated. He knew that technology mixed magic could come to something extraordinary but even with a phone? It really was captivating. He leaned over to take a closer look.

"How…?" He asked, raising his eyebrows up at him, "That is utterly brilliant." He told him simply and moved away. Sherlock might just be trying to show off, but it was still bloody brilliant.

"Really now, it's actually elementary, my dear Watson." Sherlock replied a he unlocked the phone. It kept the same basic background features, but like wizard pictures and live wallpapers, it moved.

"John Watson." Sherlock said to the phone. It came up with images of different people with different variations of the name, but it listed them in order of how close they were to Sherlock. He tapped the picture of John, and then typed out a text. On John's own screen, a tiny icon of an owl clutching a letter began to fly around. It was only the weather forecast for the day, but John was surprised that the two phones could interact with one another.

"I need to take down the barriers." Sherlock said to John, motioning towards the Professor who had suddenly found the two boys to be interesting.

"Then let's put these phones up and actually get some work done, yeah?" John told him sternly and went back to his homework. However, he was sure from the glare that he received that this would not be the case. Sherlock pulled his books out, and then took the spell down while the Professor was looking away, and then quickly hid his wand. He took out the phone, hid it behind the book that he was holding and began messing with it. John couldn't help but watch in amusement as Sherlock began to surf the internet. He blushed when the genius found his blog.

John had never had anything to post on his blog, if truth be told, until he met Sherlock. He may seem like a schoolgirl with a crush, but really, Sherlock was brilliant. He had described how he could tell him his whole life story, except for his name, which, he thought was absolutely hilarious. However, he had left out any and all magic and the questions about his mobile.

"Really John, must you over romanticize everything?" Sherlock asked as he read the blog over. This having been spoken at a normal speaking volume level, echoed through the room as though it had been shouted, and earned Sherlock and John many odd looks and a glare from the teacher.

"Do the two of you wish to be in detention again tomorrow?" The Professor asked.

"Will it be less dull and mind numbing than it is today?" Sherlock asked in retort. John elbowed him, rather hard, in the ribs to get him to get the hint to shut up. Really, they could talk about this later. He did not want to end up in detention again. He was done with it. His blog was his to write, so Sherlock could bugger off of that. He'd write it how he wanted it. However, the looks from the other students were a range of disbelief, raised eyebrows, and snickering. He sighed softly. People would talk.

"I apologize, Professor that was very unbecoming of me." Sherlock said, and then glared at John as though he owed him for that as far as the Holmes boy was concerned.

"It is alright lad, just don't do it again." The professor replied, and then he continued making his rounds. Sherlock slumped down in his chair with a huff, and then pulled out his phone.

_I could have handled it. I know his whole life story, remember? I could have even gotten us out of here now. _–SH

John sighed and looked at his phone and once he read the text he rolled his eyes. He decided to text him back instead of voice his irritation.

_Yet you could have gotten us in even MORE trouble and got us detention for the rest of the week –JW. _He shook his head with a tsk. For a genius, he didn't think things through a lot. Sherlock huffed at the text and replied.

_You don't understand John; I have DIRT on this Professor, something he would definitely NOT want getting out! – SH. _ John sighed softly, and ran a hand through his hair. Well, he was right, they weren't getting actual work done! He quickly texted him back.

_Either way, I'd rather not end up on a professor's bad side for my friend knowing things about him. A bit not good, that. –JW. _Then he watched in amusement as Sherlock attempted to reply, but the screen faded out and he growled. Finally, he turned back to his homework, but he snickered softly at Sherlock's phone problems. He wondered what was wrong with it. Slipping his own phone back into his pocket, he gave his friend a pat on the head in an almost teasing manner. Then he went back to his essay that he had to write for potions. He was actually quite good at that class, which he was pleasantly surprised at.

Sherlock felt his face burning by the time John got back to work. No one had ever patted him on the head like that before. His parents, being perfectly average pureblood wizards, would always _tell_ him that he had done well and all, but by the time he was old enough to crave their praise, Mycroft had pretty much scared them out of doing so. Since Mycroft did not like physical contact, it was assumed that Sherlock did not as well. For the most part this was fine for him, but everyone craves contact from those they love, so Sherlock had been conflicted as a child. Should he live up to his brother's expectations, or be true to himself. He sighed realizing that this was something that he still struggled with.

John was surprised when he got his work done rather quickly. It wasn't too much, just a page or so in 'muggle paper'. Apparently the wizarding world was too good for that too and had to stick to parchment, which was rather odd in his opinion. Once done, he turned to Sherlock, who had folded his arms up and rested his head on them, and gently poked him in the side. His parents had always been rather physically affectionate, with pats on the tops of heads for a good deed or in his mother's case kisses to cheeks. He had picked up their habits, naturally. Sherlock turned his head towards John, but did not lift it off the desk. He opened his eyes and looked up at him in a bored fashion.

"What?" He asked in a sleep laced voice. It was obvious that he was not entirely too pleased with being awoken. John was rather surprised at the fact that Sherlock had been asleep to begin with. He didn't seem the type to fall asleep in detention but… then again… He shook that off and sighed, leaning his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk.

"Mind explaining what you have planned for the phone?" He asked him quietly, feeling that it was okay to do so now that he was done with his work.

"Well I have to work on it clearly; this one is just a beta version. When I work out all the issue I plan on introducing it to the ministry and they will most likely take the project over from there. That way I can spend my time doing more important things." Sherlock replied like it was the most stupid question ever. John raised an eyebrow at that.

"More important things? You could be the one to actually make the wizarding world catch up with the muggle world." John knew most wizards thought it was reversed, that the muggles were using technology because they couldn't use magic, but magic would just make technology _easier_ and more efficient. Combining the two was a rather big breakthrough but John knew he wouldn't be the one to do something like that. He was mainly thinking of doing something dealing with people, but he didn't really know what yet.

"And why should I have to be the one to do that? Muggles are far more interesting anyways. Especially when I don't even have to waste my time with magic, and can still figure out more then they! Scotland Yard takes weeks to do something I can do with one glance. They do suspect me half the time though." Sherlock said. A piqued interest really isn't a good thing to have around Sherlock Holmes, John decided, as he wondered if he should ask him what he could find out in one glance that took Scotland Yard so long. Finally, swallowing down the apprehension, he did ask the question with a tilt of the head.

"I know you can find out someone's life story from just looking, but what else can you find out and how can it possibly help the Yard?" He asked after the initial question. Sherlock blinked before answering, looking a bit sheepish.

"I solve cases for them. They call me a consulting detective." He explained. Yep, John's previous thought was proven right and his interest grew.

"Do you really? What all do you do?" John asked, almost in a fascinated ton, which he truly was, seeing this boy actually solved bloody _cases. _Actual murders and put people in _prison. _It was fascinating to say the least.

"I examine the bodies, and then I tend to capture the culprit before the Yard has even had a chance to prove that the evidence I found was indeed valid. Then they get angry with me, and say they will never use me again. Then the moment that someone turns up dead they call me again. It's annoying really. They know that I only want the interesting cases, and I could use a doctor because their medical examiner can't tell a finger bone from a toe bone."

"Well, my dad has taught me a few things. I'm not sure if I could tell the difference between a whole lot of things, but I'm thinking of going in that direction in life, yes." John wanted to be the one to help out, because that sounded utterly fascinating and…exciting. It wasn't often John got himself into something dangerous.

"Wait, how do you do that while on grounds?" He asked. Sherlock laughed. Of course John, perfectly strange amazing John, would _want_ to help solve murder cases.

"Oh, I have my ways." He replied with a blank look on his face. The look however, did nothing to hide the glint in his eyes. John frowned at that glint but found he was rather too excited to really care. However, he would soon learn to never, ever underestimate that glint in Sherlock Holmes' eyes, especially if it was trying to be concealed with a blank look.

"Well, alright." He nodded. Sherlock grinned and sat up straight. He stretched and stood up. Most of the kids in detention had already left and the professor in charge was glaring at the ones who were lingering. John stood as well, sliding his books into his bag smoothly. He winced because his legs were rather stiff. He stretched, closing his eyes and sighing.

"Well, what now?" He asked as he was soon leading the way out of the room. He looked back to Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

"Have you eaten today?" He asked noting that the boy really was thin. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

"I ate yesterday. That is all the energy that I require." He replied with a dismissing wave of his hand.

"Ah ah. No, come on, we're going to the Great Hall, and I will feed you myself if I have to." John told him sternly, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He wouldn't let him fall into malnutrition. He'd seen it happen and he'd rather not watch Sherlock go through it.

"John, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you." Sherlock replied flatly. He was about to say something else when John turned and shoved a biscuit into his mouth and covered his lips with his hand. He gave him a rather forceful glare.

"Eat. It." He told him firmly, not planning on moving an inch until he saw/felt him swallow the biscuit. Sherlock glared at John, but made no move to swallow or to try and resist John. This of course earned the boys the attention of their passing peers. John ignored them and kept his hand over his friend's mouth and he raised his eyebrow up at him.

"I'll shove it down your throat if I have to. I'd rather not have to be violent but if you push me that far, I will." Not to mention intubation would be a better option. Sherlock narrowed his eyes into slits in response. By now a small crowed had formed and people were whispering to each other. John heard Sherlock's stomach growl and he smirked. He knew he would win this but Sherlock wasn't going to go down without a fight. The crowd was proof of that. It made John feel a little self-conscious but really, what were they even staring at? It wasn't as if he was snogging him in the middle of the hall. He just had his hand over his mouth.

Sherlock held out for a few more minutes before his damn body finally overruled his mind. He swallowed, and then glared at John. John smiled and removed his hand.

"See? Now was that so hard to do?" He rolled his eyes. Honestly, Sherlock was so damn stubborn sometimes. It was annoying but endearing in its own odd form. If that wasn't an odd thought, he didn't know what was.

Sherlock did the only indignant thing that his body seemed to be able to do at that moment. He pouted. The staring students around them began to gawk at the sight. Sherlock Holmes, a genius who could figure out your life story with one glance, had been reduced to pouting! John smirked and nodded.

"Good. Now, we're going to the Great Hall and you're going to eat, whether you like it or not." He told him simply. He wouldn't back down. He could be just as stubborn as his friend and so he grasped his bicep and proceeded to drag him to the Great Hall.

((A/N: SPOILERSPOILERSPOILER.  
Dear Readers, John is going to be the nephew of Hermione Granger because Emma _Watson._

We are going to say that her parents had a child after the series ended. There is a huge age gap, about seventeen years, but oh well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.))


	3. Big Brother

Big Brother's Watching

Greg wasn't used to seeing the houses mix. Sure, he himself hung around a Slytherin, of all houses a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, so when he heard of John and Sherlock hanging around each other it wasn't that big of a deal. That was until he remembered exactly who the Holmeses were. Then it got a bit weird. He was around the eldest Holmes, Mycroft, very often so he knew how they were like. They didn't like _friends _or _sentiment_. He knew that Mycroft was rather attached to his brother so for Mycroft to be mentioning it to Greg, well that meant that John was quite….deeply in Sherlock's current day to day life. And Greg could tell that Mycroft was, apparently, none too pleased with this turn of events. He had said to Greg that he had predicted it when he first saw them together on the train. It seemed he knew that his brother was attached to this John Watson, but he could not for the life of him see why. Greg couldn't really see the problem with it, but he knew that Mycroft didn't dislike him due to his blood status. Despite the fact that Mycroft was a Slytherin, he did not hate John for being a mudblood. No, Mycroft Holmes held _all_ beings, wizards, muggles, or otherwise, to a certain level of contempt.

"Mycroft. Just let them be. Things will land where they will and you know if you push him, he'll just become more attached." Greg pointed out. He had noticed, early on, that if Mycroft told Sherlock not to do something, he went out of his way to do so. It was actually a bit funny.

This John character. He seemed interesting. Greg had honestly thought that he was the only one who could put up with the Holmes brothers' antics. Seemed like he was wrong. He really wanted to know what made Sherlock so interested in the bloke. No, not in the jealous way. He'd never seen Sherlock attracted to the thought of conversation with another human being, so he wanted to know. Why?

Mycroft glared at him. "I am well aware of this Lestrade, but this does not excuse my brother for his behavior." He retorted, before turning his attention back to the field. It wasn't time for the tryouts yet, but the people who were on the team last year were getting together to practice and cut up, or in the case of the Gryffindors and Slytherins, start impromptu matches. Mycroft was on neither team, but he always came whenever Greg was on the field. It made Greg feel a bit prideful and his game a bit better.

"Excuse his behavior? He's got one kid who pretty much acts like a puppy dog and is right on his heels." Greg retorted with a chuckle, "It's kind of cute, really, the two of them. If something more intense happens, _then _you can worry. Lighten up a bit, Myc. I mean, you've got me, right? Why can't he have John?" He told him then looked up as he was called out onto the field. He was currently the Captain, a position for which he had worked his ass off to get. He called to the teammates he'd be right there.

"I'll be back after this match, Myc." He said to Mycroft as he stood.

"Do not call me Myc! It is Mycroft!" Mycroft snapped as Lestrade's attention was stolen.

Lestrade was so used to Mycroft throwing a fit at the nickname he gave him. He'd still use it. He'd just have to deal with it. Mycroft called him Lestrade. That was kind of like a nickname. He had to get his head back into the game, even if he could feel Mycroft watching him as he walked out onto the field. It was a rough match, and ended up tied. When Greg came back, he was grinning.

"You were saying?"

"I believe that I was informing you yet again not to use that infernal nickname, and I was telling you that my brother would be a better person if he had no sentimental attachments. And now I am telling you to go bathe." Mycroft said, standing up and brushing his trousers off.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna keep using it anyway and what about the whole 'everyone could use an outsider's eye' type deal? What if he's grown so numb to something he can't notice it that would be blatantly obvious to someone else who wasn't used to it?" Greg said and shrugged. He'd shower after their little argument.

"Then he needs to find someone of intelligence, not someone who is bleakly _normal._ As of yet, John Watson has done nothing to prove that he is anything more than plain. At this point, my brother will merely grow bored of the man, whereas John will only grow more fond of Sherlock." Mycroft held back a wince when he realized that he had unintentionally revealed that it was not just his brother's well being, but also Johns. Greg held back a smirk and focused on the truth of the statement.

"So you're also worried of how John will be treated after Sherlock gets 'bored'." Greg pursed his lips and shrugged. "I'll talk to John then. I know his sister, sort of, so it won't be too hard. He doesn't seem to be too extraordinary, but just think of what you said. Someone of intelligence. They're eleven. They don't even know what their own definitions of intelligence are."

"I never said that I was worried about John! And I'll have you know that at eleven years old I had reached full mental maturity, and Sherlock has as well." Mycroft ignored Lestrade's question, and began to walk towards the castle.

Greg shrugged and looked to where the showers were. "I'll go shower, okay?" He said, and started to walk off.

Gregory smiled. Really, Mycroft made himself out to be someone who was made out of ice however, Greg knew that wasn't true. Sure, he didn't see it often, but he knew by the way that Mycroft braved the masses of the Great Hall when he knew that Greg would be there. He just hoped that Mycroft would come to the realization that everyone had someone, even Mycroft himself.

/AN: I'm not sure if I mentioned this, anyone, but I am writing this with KRinaLace!  
Also, sorry for the shady updates. I'm going through school and trying to train for the National Guard, so I don't have much time and when I do , my brain is usually fried. So, I apologize for such spaced out updates! I hope it is worth it!


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